


Kev Nealeka

by the_mumbler



Category: Original Work
Genre: cambodia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 06:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30017529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_mumbler/pseuds/the_mumbler
Summary: An old man tells a young boy a story and the boy finds the magical hourglass from the story still intact. His father, however, greedily takes it from him and events ensue.
Collections: Original Work on Ao3, Original works





	Kev Nealeka

Kev Nealeka

Kosal always carried the bucket in his left hand. To carry it in the right would bring bad luck. Carefully, the old man stepped his way around freshly sown saplings as Ponleu followed behind.

The manager’s son trailed Kosal as he traversed the rubber plantation. Each row of trees stood like a line of soldiers with branches outstretched in salute casting dappled shade. Leaves crunched underfoot as Kosal reached the edge of the lot. He was not surprised to find Ponleu when he turned around.

“Hello,” The boy said.

“Hello, Ponleu.” Kosal replied, amused.

The man placed his bucket on the ground next to the one nearly overflowing with liquid latex. He peeled off a strip of bark and moved the metal spigot higher as the glue-like, white sap rose to the surface.

Kosal reached for the empty bucket, but it was not there.

Ponleu was sitting on it overturned, waiting expectantly for Kosal to speak.

“I need that bucket, young man.”

“I’ll trade you your bucket for another story.”

Kosal sighed. “You are your father’s son, ever ready to make a deal.”

The old man hesitated before agreeing.

“Very well, but give me my bucket first.”

Ponleu handed it to him and sat criss-cross on the ground, eyes wide with anticipation.

Kosal tugged at his white beard, pondering what to tell the boy. He pointed across the field, beyond the scrap of jungle, to a dark spot along the horizon.

“There,” he said, “is where this story takes place. At Votthoboran Lake.”

“Long ago, there lived a prince. Arun was fourth in line to the throne, and, because both his father and three brothers were healthy and young, had no chance at becoming king. Arun was still royalty and treated as such, but the young man was eager to break out from under the shadow of his family. He wanted to be remembered by something other than his status as an aristocrat. He craved power, real influence. 

Seeking guidance, the prince sought the wisdom of Boran, the Elder Monk of Li Atal.”

Kosal gestured to the plantation around them. “Arun passed right through this very plantation--then a mighty and wild forest--to reach the Grand Temple.” 

“Orange-robed monks milled through the three-tired stone pagoda as devotees burned incense along the steps. Apprentices carved the East entrance, painting upward flames along the eaves of the first level in gold. Arun bowed under the triangle roof angled toward the heavens.”

“Blessings be upon you Prince. What do you seek today?” A monk asked as he prepared the leaves for alms.

“Take me to Boran.”

“Of course, your Highness. He is in tricandescence. You’ll have to wait outside until he is finished.” 

They ascended the stone stairs to the highest level and waited. Arun sat down on a purple silk pillow. Its edges were stitched together with gold and each end bore the symbol of his dynasty: a tiger holding a lotus flower between its jaws. This was one of the many gifts the King had given the Temple as a sign of cooperation between his bloodline and the divine.

The wooden door, carved with semi-circles and geometric mazes, rattled. Teal light flashed from under the gap.

“He is ready for you now.” The monk said and left.

Arun pushed open the door, fanning away a cloud of patchouli smoke. The slate ceiling was carved with constellations painted in silver and mirrored in the still water of an indoor pond swimming with ikan bettahs. 

“Arun, it’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Elder.”

“Please, sit. Let us discuss the alignment of your goals.”

The prince sat down on an amber cushion as the monk stirred his aromatic tea that smelled sharply of bergamot and cinnamon.

“You seem restless.”

“That's exactly right. I feel like a bee with no hive.”

“Why, Arun? You have the Kingdom.”

“My father has the Kingdom. I am fourth in line to never. The people see me as a royal aristocrat skilled in nothing worthy of their attention, much less their respect.”

“Have you forgotten the cheers of the crowd when you wrestled the water dragon?”

“That was only a small village.”

“A small village grateful for the Prince who brought peace to the lake that claimed several lives. You made it safe again for them to fetch water.”

“That doesn't mean much when your father is King and your brothers command armies.”

“Ah, so it's jealousy that motivates you.”

“Perhaps. I just want to stand on my own and earn the people’s respect.”

“I will help you, young Prince, but remember that if you feed this appetite for ambition it will poison you. And there is no antidote for greed.”

“I understand. I want to be known for something great.”

“To be great, you must do great.”

Boran arose and rifled through the chest of scrolls. He handed one, frayed and yellowed, to Arun. 

“This is the map to what you seek.”

The Prince followed the map to the deepest body of water in the kingdom: Votthoboran Lake. 

Ponleu looked to the horizon where the very same lake remained.

“The map showed an indigo circle with a yellow dot and at the very bottom of the lake was a golden treasure. The inscription read: ‘Beneath the blue lies an ancient treasure, a blessing if used generously, but a curse if used selfishly’.

Now, Arun was a skilled swimmer and could hold his breath for long dives. 

“Yes! He wrestled the water dragon!”

Kosal chuckled.

“That's correct, Ponleu. You've been paying attention.”

He continued with the story. “Arun was determined and fearless as he dove into the lake to retri--”

Leaves crunched underfoot as the plantation manager appeared.

“Old man! Get back to work!” Narith interrupted. “Stop filling my son’s head with nonsense.”

“But Father --”

“Son, do not speak back to me!”

“Kosal, you old fool, this is the last time you tell my son stories instead of working!”

“Sir, I have filled my buckets with sap and finished stripping the bark as requested.”

Narith scoffed.

“You disrespect me? I am your superior. Get off my land; I never want to see your face here again!”

Kosal bowed and left behind a teary-eyed Ponleu.

“I've told you before: do not talk to the workers. You are my son and should act like it. They need to know their place.”

“But Father-”

“Ponleu, you caused this. You made me fire that old man and now I have to waste my time finding a replacement. Your foolishness is costing me money!”

Ponleu burst into tears as his father let out a frustrated sigh.

“Come here,” He said gently. “I don't want you believing Kosal’s stories because the real world is about power and money. We have money and, therefore, power. We must be treated with respect and obedience. We’ve earned it. This is a lesson you must learn, Son.”

Ponleu stayed in his room for the rest of the night until the sun leaked between the bamboo blinds. The rooster crowed as he heard his father order the house servant to mop the floor while he attended a meeting. 

Chantou mopped the foyer, dragging the cotton jellyfish across the wood as its yarn tentacles turned gray. Ponleu listened to the slap of the mop into water as she continued to work, blocking the front door.

He had to escape before his father returned and without anyone else noticing. He grabbed a piece of nom korng, broke the donut in half, and snuck out the back door. Immediately the dogs were upon him.

But instead of barking, they were sniffing his closed fist for a treat. Ponleu threw the donut as far as he could and the dogs went after it. He ducked under his stilt-perched house and joined the shadow line of plantation trees.

He followed the rubber trees to the spot he and Kosal had been just yesterday. He looked to the horizon and headed toward Tonle Bet’s deepest, most ancient lake.

The blue crater was an obsidian mirror, reflective and black. Reeds stood still along the bank guarding dark depths. But one light captured Ponleu’s attention. A glint of gold caught in the sun and shimmered beneath. It wasn't just some foolish story; it was real. Kosal never lied.

Ponleu paced the shore, nervously rethinking what he was about to do.

“Arun could hold his breath for minutes and wrestled a water dragon! What have I done? Swam in a river where my feet touched the bottom?” Ponleu argued with himself, but the sun shone stronger and the shimmering intensified. It didn't look as deep as it did before. Besides, he had to prove his father wrong then, maybe, Kosal could have his job back.

Ponleu breathed deeply and echoed the Elder Monk’s words “To be great, you must do great.” And this was certainly a great feat. 

The boy dived into the lake, shattering the surface. The water was murky and muted. He passed a whiskered catfish as he swam deeper. The water was cold, but his lungs screamed fire. The gold glimmered once more; he was close, but running out of breath. He kicked and grabbed blindly for the object; his fingers touched metal. Ponleu rushed to the surface, head pounding from lack of oxygen. He gasped and crawled into the shallows. He sat in a foot of water, minnows nibbling at his toes as he caught his breath. In his hand, he held the artifact from Kosal’s story.

Golden, the relic was surrounded by eight pillars barring the hourglass in the middle. The pencil-long pillars were stamped with a chorebap pattern, symbolizing good luck, but engraved on every other pillar those same lucky jasmine flowers were set ablaze, carved with flames. The trapped hourglass was opaque black and held no sand.

Ponleu, with proof in hand, set off into the village to look for Kosal, but the old man was nowhere to be found.

A sunbird perched on the open windowsill, its keen eyes examining the room for flowers, but only found a boy holding an ornate hourglass. He turned it around in his hands, wondering what it was for. Footsteps crescendoed as the iridescent bird flew away and Ponleu hid the totem under his bed.

“Son, I have some very important business guests coming over soon. I am not to be interrupted. Go outside and find something to do. And be quiet.”

Ponleu packed his bag with the relic, marbles, and Num Pang, a pork sandwich with pickled carrots and cucumber. These business meetings took a long time and Ponleu was never wanted around even when he promised to be quiet. 

Rith was shoveling dirt over the veiny roots of a young sapling in the south side of the plantation. He was the son of the house servant, Chantou, and a field laborer who spent his days stripping bark off rubber trees. Ponleu’s father owned the land and, therefore, this family as they were paid nothing, but meager rations and shelter in return for a lifetime of work. 

Rith waved hello as Ponleu greeted him. 

“Get your marbles.” Ponleu said as Rith excitedly threw down his shovel.

They sat near the southern gate as villagers passed by on the busy street. Ponleu gave his friend half his sandwich as they arranged their marbles. In the sunlight, the glass orbs shone like planets in a galaxy. 

“How’d you get that one?” Ponleu asked in wonder..

He picked up the clear marble filled with olive green inside. A vertical black stripe slashed the center: the coveted Tiger’s Eye.

“That was not easy to get, but I challenged Sarun to a fight. If I won, I got the marble. If he won, he’d get three of my marbles. Guess who won?” Rith said with pride.

Ponleu lauged.

“I can’t believe you beat Sarun. He’s a foot taller than you!”

“Here’s the proof.” Rith launched his Tiger Eye, knocking Ponleu’s purple marble out of orbit.

They started the game, each trying to spin the marble the furthest while moving the other’s marbles out of place. The spheres were knocked out of the gate and onto the street. Rith spun the Tiger Eye towards Ponleu’s white orb, but missed and the marble crunched into glass underfoot the hoof of a cart-pulling cow.

“No!”

Rith scooped up the glass, but it was shattered into shards.

“I’m so sorry.” Ponleu said.

“It’s not your fault.”

Then Ponleu remembered what was in his bag.

“Rith, come here. I don’t know what this does, but maybe it can fix your marble. But you have to promise not to tell anybody.”

“I swear.”

The hourglass looked even more mysterious in the daylight. Its black glass an abyss into the unknown.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s an ancient totem from the years of Arun, but Kosal never had the chance to finish the story before my father banished him. You haven't seen him, have you?”

“No, not for days.”

“I really need him to finish the story. I don't know what this does.”

Rith shook the relic.

“There's no sand in the hourglass. So, I guess it doesn't keep time. Maybe it brings good luck?”

“If that were true, your Tiger’s Eye wouldn't be broken.”

Rith turned it upside down. 

The boys waited in anticipation for something to happen, but nothing did.

“Maybe it’s broken.”

“That can't be. Everything Kosal said has been true.” Ponleu replied.

“Whatever. I just wish I had my Tiger’s Eye back.”

The relic twisted and one pillar locked in place. In the top half of the hourglass appeared a teal fog that dripped through the cinched middle to the bottom, settling like a glowing cloud. Even when they turned it upside down the mist wouldn’t move. 

The glass shards levitated off the ground and grouped together. A bright teal flash fused the marble into a new Tiger’s Eye. 

Rith was elated. But he wasn’t the only one who saw. The flash of light caught the attention of passersby. People began to crowd around, astonished by the miracle.

“Do it again! Show us!” They shouted.

Ponleu held all of the marbles in his hand and turned the hourglass upside down.

“I wish everyone had marbles.”

Teal fog settled in the bottom, adding to what was there before. The crowd looked on, unblinking and tense.

Suddenly, the marbles in Ponleu’s hands began to multiply. They quickly overflowed as the crowd roared in astonishment. He went around, marbles spilling to his feet as people each took a handful for themselves. There was plenty to go around. Everyone was delighted and mystified by this magic.

All except one. Narith, having heard the cheers carry on the southern wind, came to find Ponleu.

“Are you incapable of following orders?” He yelled. The crowd went silent as their smiles faded.

“I asked you to do one thing: be quiet. And you can’t even do that right. You made me have to end my meeting early!”

“Father…”  
“Save your breath. I don’t need an excuse.”

He grabbed Ponleu’s arm and began to drag him away.

A villager cried out, “Wait. Your son is a miracle worker. He did nothing wrong.”

“Ha. My son has much to learn. You are mistaken.” Narith replied.

“No, it’s true. Look, he multiplied the marbles with this.” The man said, holding up the relic.

Ponleu’s heart sank, nothing in the hands of his father ever turned out good.

Narith took the hourglass in one hand and Ponleu’s arm in the other and stormed away.

It had been two weeks and Ponleu could still not find where his father had hidden the relic. The new floorboards no longer creaked as the boy climbed atop a leather chair to look above the mahogany cabinets. Narith had fired almost all of his workers after he wished for a successful harvest. He kept only the housekeeper and her family to work continuously, collecting the overflowing buckets of rubber sap. With his first wish granted, he asked for more and more. The sixth time he asked for wealth, he suddenly sunk to his knees, unable to get up.

“Cut off my pockets”, he commanded Ponleu. 

As soon as he tore the fabric, a mudslide of gold coins flowed out. His father swept the money into a massive pile, his deep laugh echoing like thunder. Narith unlocked the door to reveal a room stocked to the ceiling with gold. He quickly locked his treasure and kept the key around his neck.

Ponleu shook his head, trying to forget these memories as he climbed the chair to search the mantle shelf. He sighed, frustrated with this fruitless pursuit. 

“You’ll never find it.” Narith said smugly.

“First rule of business, my son, is always be the smartest in the room.”

“But Kosal said ‘to be great you must do great’”.

“I am already great. Can't you see? We are the wealthiest in all of Cambodia. You must learn to take what you can get and never let go.”

“But the hourglass…”

“The hourglass in the palm of a businessman is luck multiplied. You, boy, thought too small and wished for marbles”, he scoffed, “But I know how to wield power.” 

His father walked away.

Gray and brooding the sky let out a growl as Ponleu shuffled the shrimp around his bowl.

“Eat your food, boy.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He took the shrimp amok away, spilling coconut sauce onto the teakwood table.

“Look what you made me do. My own son can't be grateful enough to enjoy the luxuries I have provided for him.”

“You didn't work for these things.”

“How dare you!”

“You stole the relic from me and used all the wishes for yourself!”

“I did what is best for us. A businessman always claims an opportunity.”

“You're right. You are a businessman. More a businessman than a father.” 

Ponleu locked himself in his room for the rest of the night. Lightning flashed in the window as tears fell down his face faster than rain. 

Narith tossed and turned in his sleep. His stomach ached and his pillow was damp with sweat. It was not guilt that caused this, but rotten shrimp.  
An upset stomach was all it took for the businessman to run to the relic. Teal clouds brewed and swirled in the bottom like a trapped storm. The hourglass was nearly full. 

“I wish for perfect health.”

The flamed chorembap glowed as the final wish was made. The pain immediately vanished. His gray-speckled hair became jet black and his skin unwrinkled. He felt new and slept peacefully as raindrops pattered like rolled dice on the roof. 

Sunlight washed the room in yellow as it emerged from its slumber. Narith pulled a pillow over his face.

“Chantou! You forgot to close the curtains!”

Silence. A cool breeze snaked through the house. Narith opened his eyes.

His room was ripped in half; the entire south wall was missing. Rafters splintered into the sky as pipes stuck out like broken bones. Muddy water gushed below, swirling around the remaining stilts. But in the water, a glint caught his eye: a gold coin. He rushed over to see his vault room destroyed, standing on one stilt; his treasure cache was gone. Weeping, he ran outside to see not only his wealth lost, but also his plantation. The monsoon flood washed away every single rubber tree.   
Wading through the waves lapping at his knees, he tripped over logs and buckets. He reached the street and looked upon all that he had lost. But while he despaired, the village rejoiced. The town was flooded, but no other house had been destroyed.

Families hugged each other and neighbors shouted greetings. Then a little girl picked up a gold coin and gave it to her mother. The coins were so numerous they flowed on every rivulet and swam like carp in the muddy water.

Narith watched, powerless, as the entire village began collecting his money. He felt empty and tired. He looked at his reflection only to see that his gray hair had returned. All of his wishes were for nothing.

He sat on a wicker basket, his cinder slacks soaked black, and thought of all that he’d lost.

Then Ponleu walked up to him.

“My son! You're okay!”

But Ponleu stepped back. 

“You did even look for me.”

“My boy...I”

“All you care about is yourself.”

The gathering crowd stepped aside as a voice broke the tense silence: “ Selfishness has a price.”

Kosal appeared as Ponleu ran to him, crying.

“Give back to your son what is his.” Kosal commanded.

Narith sheepishly handed the hourglass to Ponleu.

Teal mist evaporated as the relic was returned to its original owner. Only a small drop of cloudy teal curled at the bottom; Ponleu still had six wishes to make.  
He looked angrily at his father, the businessman, whose every wish was self-serving and greedy.

“To be great you must do great.” Ponleu reminded himself.

He looked at his father again and saw a broken man, his suit stained with mud, his wealth nonexistent, and his weary face, heavy with years. He was a pathetic disgrace of a man. But still, he was his father.

Ponleu took the hourglass and said, “I wish for my father’s health to be restored.”

Narith’s grays disappeared and his feet were no longer sore.

“You have a second chance to live a different life; one that thinks of others first and the self last.” Kosal said.

Ponleu stood with the ancient relic in his hands, six wishes left. He knew what his next wish would be.

“I wish for the hourglass to disappear forever.”

In a flash of teal, it vanished.

Months passed as the flood waters receded and life returned. Narith, penniless, worked as a laborer for Chantou’s successful plantation while Ponleu became an apprentice for Kosal at the Temple. 

“Kosal, I have a question.”

“Of course, you do Ponleu.”

“How did the story end?”

“My dear Ponleu, the story ends with Arun’s corruption; he, consumed by greed, amassed more riches than his father, an army larger than his brothers’ and still did not gain greatness.”

“Because of his selfishness.”

“Yes. The hourglass was hidden because no man can resist the curse of greed.”

“Then how did I vanquish it?”

“Because you are a boy, not yet a man. You are still kind.”


End file.
